Chapter 107

  Written by Bayzo Albion

  The merchant kept chuckling, watching me, waiting for me to recoil from his "defective merchandise."

  But I stood there, silent, realizing: this was exactly why I couldn't walk away.

  His grin lingered, expectant, as if certain I'd bolt. "Take her for free," he said lazily. "I've been dying to unload her. No one's biting. Problematic goods. For you, Mr. Balthazar—consider it a gift."

  I kept my gaze fixed on her. That doll-like beauty hid a chilling void... and a spark. She was dangerous. Broken. Cursed. Anyone else would call it a death sentence.

  But that's what made her feel like *mine*.

  Problematic? Absolutely. Dangerous? Without a doubt. Yet I was the same—a spawn of division, a shadow of the past, my very existence deemed a mistake.

  I knew she'd bring more headaches than help. But my hand didn't waver.

  I reached into my pouch and slapped down a hundred gold coins on the table. The dull clink silenced his smirk instantly. Then I added fifty more on top.

  "I don't take handouts," I said flatly. "Hundred for her. Fifty to get her dressed."

  He blinked, squinting in confusion, then burst into laughter—though it lacked his earlier confidence. "You surprise me," he drawled, scooping up the coins. "Really surprise me."

  "Get used to it," I shot back.

  The cell door creaked open, and they led her out. They draped a simple dress over her—coarse, baggy, the color of ashes. It at least covered her, though it hung like a sack on her slender frame. She walked in silence, head bowed, but at one turn, her eyes flicked up to meet mine for a split second.

  In that fleeting spark, my heart clenched painfully: not the cowering fear of a doomed victim, nor the blank submission of the broken. Something else. Something deep and unyielding, whispering: *I'm still alive.*

  We ascended from the depths. The oppressive, stale air of the underground—reeking of damp stone and festering fear—gave way to the chaotic symphony of life above. The marketplace roared outside: vendors hawking wares in piercing cries, crowds bustling with their petty urgencies. And there, in the heart of it all, she walked beside me—a ghost in gray, head lowered, hands clasped before her like in eternal supplication.

  No sound escaped her. No glance. Just a ringing, enveloping silence that wrapped around her like a cocoon.

  Her movements were honed to mechanical grace, as if she'd been crafted solely for obedience. Every step, every breath was measured, cautious. A perfectly trained doll, stripped of any will of her own.

  I stole a sideways glance. *Is this really her?* The thought echoed in my mind. *The one with the split? The beast that emerges at night?*

  Instead of a feral predator, I had a shadow—too quiet, too flawless. So much so that it sent an icy shiver down my spine. The merchant had painted pictures of explosive shifts, demonic fury. But in her dulled eyes, I saw no madness, no blaze. Just a thick, foggy veil of emptiness.

  And that eerie mismatch unnerved me more than if she'd lunged at me with bared teeth. I fought the urge to step back, my hand instinctively brushing my pouch, fingers tightening around the rough hilt of a concealed knife.

  "Obedient, huh?" I muttered under my breath, more to shatter the oppressive quiet than anything. "Too damn obedient."

  She didn't respond. Didn't flinch. Didn't even lift her head. Her silence was absolute, denser than any scream.

  *Why the hell did I buy her?* The question hit me like a slap, staring at her bowed form. *This was impulsive. Emotional. I jumped in thinking luck would bail me out... but this world isn't paradise. No easy wins here. Everything's messier, harder.*

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  We trudged along the narrow street, her every footfall a reminder of my rashness.

  I halted abruptly and turned to her. "What are you waiting for?" I demanded, searching for any flicker. "The perfect moment to drop the act and show your real face? Like everyone else does."

  She froze. No extra twitch. No words.

  Just that flawless, unnerving compliance.

  I smirked, but it came out twisted. "Fine, play the doll for now," I grumbled. "Dolls can be useful too."

  We pressed on. Her gray dress flapped loosely on her thin shoulders, like she'd drowned in someone else's rags.

  "Alright, first things first—let's get you something decent," I said aloud. "In that sack, you look like a potato bag."

  I made it crude on purpose, baiting for a reaction—hurt, a flash of anger, anything. But she marched on as if my words dissolved into the air.

  And that serene poise disturbed me more than if she'd snarled and gone for my throat.

  I headed to the tailor's shop I'd visited before. Behind the counter sat the same portly man with his mustache and that ridiculous tuft of gray hair sticking up like a tiny tail.

  *All the merchants here are fat,* I thought with a wry grin. *Some secret code among traders? Or just the world's way of mocking me. And yeah... I'm not the full author of this story. I'm an aesthete at heart. If I had the power, I'd craft a world where everyone's beautiful, flawless. But no. Instead, I'm buying clothes from a chubby guy with a head tuft.*

  "How can I assist, Lord Balthazar!" he exclaimed, his face blooming into a grin like I'd walked in as a walking gold mine. "Any garment to your whim, whatever your heart desires!"

  I crossed my arms, arching a brow. "Here for enchanted socks," I said deadpan. "You see, I've got a companion now, and I don't want to stink up the place around her."

  He nodded sagely, his mustache quivering. "I understand completely," he replied with earnest fervor. "Women, especially the lovely ones, should bloom like flowers, and the men beside them must be impeccably fresh. It's no sin, Lord Balthazar, not at all. It's a natural urge—to keep her pure and pleasing to the eye."

  I rolled my eyes inwardly. *It was a joke, and he took it straight. Hate these bootlickers. But I get it. From cradle to grave, they're drilled: bow low, smile wide, flatter hard—and maybe survive. For a sale, he'll croon the same tune to anyone.*

  I nodded, masking my annoyance.

  "How fortunate for you, Lord Balthazar," he beamed, "I just finished a big order yesterday, so my hands are free. For you, I can whip up a fine suit or even those enchanted socks. Fresh forever, no wash needed, wear them for years."

  I glanced down at my worn boots, fiddling with the laces, and smirked. "You sell shoes too?"

  "Of course!" His eyes lit up like I'd uttered a spell. "And for you, Lord Balthazar, the finest enchantments to keep your feet tireless and dust-free."

  "What kind of charms for shoes?"

  He ticked them off on his plump fingers: "First, 'Dust-Proof': Stays spotless, even through swamps."

  "Second: 'Light Step'—legs fatigue less, trek farther without rest."

  "Third: 'Silent Tread'—for stealth lovers. No creaks, no echoes."

  "Fourth: 'Adaptive Comfort'—warm in cold, cool in heat, whatever the weather."

  He finished with the air of someone offering immortality's key.

  I eyed my boots again, tugging at a lace, and chuckled. "Funny. All these make life comfier... but none stop a spear from skewering you."

  He nodded briskly, smile unwavering. "Comfort's a weapon too, my lord. A weary warrior falls before the fresh one."

  I pondered that. Simple wisdom, delivered with the same greedy gleam all merchants wore.

  *Another tough choice,* I thought. *Enchantments are one-shot deals. Shoes get just one seal. Can't have it all—light feet and stealth? Warmth and cleanliness? Always a trade-off...*

  I had to make the decision quickly—not on a whim or gut feeling, but with cold, calculated precision. In this world, even the smallest detail could tip the scales more than the mightiest spell.

  "I'll take the boots enchanted with 'Light Step,' please," I said firmly, committing to my choice. "One set of self-cleaning clothes, and socks to match—eternally fresh. And... make it all stylish. Black. Black as the void itself."

  The tailor beamed, his face lighting up with an enthusiastic nod.

  "Ah, splendid choice, Lord Balthazar! Black—the color of power, mystery, and unyielding strength! You'll be utterly unforgettable!"

  *The color of darkness, the shade of graves,* I thought grimly. *But so be it. If this is the path I'm doomed to walk, at least I'll do it in attire that reminds me of what I've become.*

  The shop door creaked open suddenly…